


Whenever, Wherever

by AdAstra (smut_fairy)



Series: Anytime, Anywhere [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Public Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smut_fairy/pseuds/AdAstra
Summary: The one where Clarke has a public sex kink and Bellamy can't resist helping her out.





	1. In the Stacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke needs a little stress relief. 
> 
> Bellamy goes to get a book from the stacks at just the right time.

Clarke can't focus.

Between sitting at the same table in the library for hours, agonizing biochem problem sets, impending finals, and the shitty hookup she'd had the night before that left her exceedingly unsatisfied, she's wound tight. She sighs and drops her head to her textbook, reaching a hand back to massage her aching neck. Before she can get to it, another, larger hand is there, pressing into the exact places where she's hurting most with a firm grip. She moans quietly.

"Feel good?" Bellamy teases. Between the size and weight and confidence of his hand on her skin and the roughness of his voice, pitched lower than usual so as not to bother the other students, a shiver runs down her spine.

It occurs to her that she could slip away and... unwind. She's never thought about relieving her stress in public like this before, but she's a little desperate and has no plans to leave the library anytime in the foreseeable future. Her need isn't dampened by the students all around, cramming for their own finals. If anything, the atmosphere of stress has turned her into one big frayed nerve.

Plus, it makes her skin tingle in the best way to think someone might catch her in the act. Ultimately, that makes the decision for her before she's even really conscious that she's made it.

"I'm gonna stretch my legs," she whispers.

Bellamy offers her a tiny smile, Raven sort of grunts in acknowledgment, and Miller ignores her completely even though she knows for a fact his headphones are only for show.

"I'll guard your spot," Bellamy says, but Clarke is so far gone, so ready to get off, she barely even hears him.

She picks a spot in the stacks she doubts will get much traffic. The books on this row are all in some obscure language, a film of dust indicating its seclusion. As good a spot as any, she decides.

She slips one hand up under her tank top, groping herself over her sports bra, feeling her heartbeat speed up. She caresses the sides of her breasts, drags her fingers slow and light over them, dipping beneath the elastic to stroke the sensitive skin underneath whenever she can. Her nipples are already beaded, her fingernail circling around—but not quite over—where they're straining against the material.

She considers for a moment losing the bra, letting it lie in a heap next to her on the floor where anyone passing by would see it, see her, and know indisputably what she was doing. That thought is what makes her give in to her need, giving attention to her sensitive nipples at last, tweaking them hard enough to send a tug straight down to her core, the coarse material adding delicious friction that has her exhaling the softest moan she can manage.

This is how she usually starts when she wants to draw it out. When she's at home in bed with a vibrator, knowing she's got the place to herself for hours, knowing she can work herself up slow and torturous without fear of being interrupted. _The longer it lasts, the greater the chance of being seen,_  she thinks, and feels her body respond: goosebumps break out on her stomach as her fingertips skate over skin toward the drawstring on her workout pants, slickness between her thighs pushing her forward.

_God_ , she wants to get caught. She wants to see some freshman, or maybe the cute library attendant, flush as they make eye contact with her. Wants someone, somewhere to know her dirty secret.

Her spine presses against book spines, the cold metal of the shelf behind her grounding her in the moment. Reminding her where she is as the hand not still working her breasts slides into her underwear and finds it fucking _drenched_. She runs a finger along her slit, gathering her wetness and spreading it around.

She's so keyed up, so sensitive, even the bare brush of her finger against her lips is enough to send shockwaves through her body. Doing this here, now, is so wrong, but it feels so good there's no way she's stopping now.

Her breathing grows louder, ragged and jarring in the stillness of the stacks. She dips the tips of two fingers into herself, her muscles fluttering at the intrusion. She can't remember the last time touching herself made her this fucking wet. Her hand is soaked and she can smell herself, which makes her drop her head back against the shelf with a moan.

She fucks her fingers into herself again, gentle and shallow, letting the heel of her hand put pressure on her mons, and it's so close to what she needs she whimpers aloud, less breathy and more voiced than any of the previous sounds she's been making.

"Clarke?"

She gasps, new wetness seeping out of her, her clit throbbing with need. She twists her wrist, the two fingers inside her stretching her perfectly as she gets her thumb tracing circles around her clit, maddeningly slow.

"Bellamy?" She pants, looking around. Did she imagine him? He's nowhere to be seen, but _fuck_ , of all the people to walk in on her, her sinfully hot best friend tops the list.

"Are you—" His voice, strangled, is coming from behind her, and she realizes he must be on the next aisle over. Of fucking course. She's probably deep in the Ancient Greek texts, where only a Classics major would venture.

"Am I what?" She prompts, the drag of her fingers inside her making her voice raspy as she tries to whisper.

He pauses for long enough she almost thinks he's left, or that she's imagined him, but then he says, in that gravelly tone, "Are you close?"

"Fuck," she breathes, her thumb falling heavily on her clit at last, rubbing tight circles. It's probably not what he was asking at first, not with the way his voice changed, but it was such the right fucking question to get her even hotter. "Yeah," she gasps brokenly, "I'm so fucking close."

She hears his shaky exhale, feels the thump of the books on his row jostling hers as he lets his head fall against them.

"You needed to get off, huh? Needed it right here, right now."

"God, yeah, I fucking—I needed to unwind. I need it, Bell."

"Fuck. I can tell, Princess." Her muscles clench around her fingers at the nickname, eliciting a high-pitched gasp from her. "Paint me a picture. Where are your hands?"

Clarke groans, grasping at her breast and bearing down on her clit with little finesse. "I've got—One down my pants and one on my bra."

"Yeah? Fingers inside you?"

"Two. And one on my clit. I'm fucking dripping, Bellamy."

He swears again, like he has every time she's moaned his name, and she smiles.

"You gonna sit around in wet panties, Princess? Or are you going to take them off? Slip them in your bag, or maybe leave them here for someone to find. A good-luck charm for someone else."

Her breaths are coming in short, hard bursts, her hips grinding against her hand. Even just his voice is enough to push her to the edge, imagining him growing hard, palming himself in time with her breathing. Not to mention the fucking mental images he's laying out, playing right into her kinks as if he _knows_.

But then, he always has seemed to be able to read her mind.

"Fuck, I hadn't even thought of that. I can't even think—Bell, I need—"

"You want me to talk you through t?"

" _Yes_. Bellamy, _please_."

"Alright Princess. Okay. I got you. God, okay. Pull your bra up, get your fingers on those perfect tits."

She shivers, the combination of his perfect sex voice and her nakedness so good together. The air is cold but her fingers are warm, and she's so exposed she could probably get arrested for indecency.

Her fingers go straight to pinching and rolling her nipples, no finesse, just desperation. All she can do is moan, but he seems to get the idea.

"Yeah, you like that, huh? Knew you would. I've tried to forget those tits but damn, that Spring Break trip with you in that fucking string bikini? I had to jerk off in the water, Clarke. That's what your tits fucking do to me. I lose control."

Something burns low in her belly, the telltale coiling that comes before she tips over the edge. Imagining that—Bellamy needing to come in public, their friends just a few yards away, all because of _her_ does things to her she can't explain. Her fingers are working hard and fast, her walls clenched tight around the intrusion in a way that sets her skin on fire. 

"But you know all about that, don't you?" The rumble of his voice is so low, so private, so intimate she can hardly stand it. "Is this the first time you've made yourself come in public, Princess? Does it turn you on, knowing at any moment someone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are? How bad you need it?

"Does it make you hotter, knowing I could hear the dirty noises you're making through the shelves?" The tension inside her rises, carrying her upward, upward, upward, the peak just barely out of reach. Her fingers turn vicious on her nipples, her thumb merciless on her clit. She's about to shatter. About to burst into flame.

"What are you gonna sound like when you come, huh? Fuck, I can't wait to find out. Come, Clarke. You're almost there. Come and let me hear it."

And that's what tips her over the edge—the urgent pitch of his voice, like he needs nothing so badly as he needs her to come. The demand itself, that authoritative tone that makes her flush all over, that she has no choice but to obey.

She comes undone, white-hot bliss overtaking her mind, floating out of her body as her cunt pulses hard and long around her fingers. The noises she makes must be obscene, her volume completely unmoderated, because she hasn't had an orgasm this good in a long fucking while. Maybe ever.

She's still having aftershocks as she removes her fingers, coated in her juices.

"Lick me clean?" She offers lazily, sticking her fingers through a crack in the books behind her.

No answer.

She turns, but the spot where Bellamy had stood, had dirty-talked her through an amazing orgasm, is now empty.

When she returns to her table, fucked-out and loose and clean again, the only sign he was even really there is his red-tipped ears.

She slides into the seat next to him and doesn't have to reach far to stick her panties, covered in the evidence of her kink, in his pocket.

"For your trouble," she mouths, when his eyes, molten brown and darker than she's ever seen them, meet hers in alarm.

He tucks them further into his pocket without a word, adjusting his pants as he goes, and Clarke wonders if he'll need a little stress relief, himself.

If he does, she'll be all too eager to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing smut! Let me know what you think? ;)


	2. Working It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is hungry for more. (So is Bellamy.)

After a few days of not acknowledging the library incident, Clarke considers just showing up at Bellamy's apartment, ready to fuck— he can't say no to a trenchcoat, heels, and nothing else, can he? It had seemed like he was into getting her off, at the very least, but Clarke wants more than that with him. She wants everything.

But it seems like a lot to hope for. A much more reasonable hope would be to repay the favor in kind.

And for that, the _privacy_ of his apartment isn't what she's looking for.

She considers showing up to the class he TAs, or his office hours, and letting him bend her over his desk when everyone else has cleared out. But she knows how fucking hard he's worked to get where he is. As much of a turn-on as it might be for him, she doesn't want to jeopardize his good standing with the university without at least getting his permission first.

Her next plan is to corner him the next time they're out with friends. To find a secluded place at the bar or club, in her guaranteed-get-laid outfit, and ask him in her most sultry voice whether he still has her panties, because she's not wearing any now and she's getting too wet to go without.

Before she can put this plan into action, another opportunity presents itself.

An opportunity too good to pass up.

She sees him the second she walks into the gym. He's on the treadmill front and center, damp curls stuck to his forehead, bare arms (perfectly on display in the 'history BUFF' tank Miller got him last time he was online shopping drunk) shiny with sweat and mesmerizing as she watches them pump back and forth.

Her face heats up immediately. As do... _other_ parts of her.

Instead of heading for the rowing machines like she normally does to start, she takes a left turn that walks her right past Bellamy's machine. He smiles at her, something like hunger in his eyes when she smirks and waves and saunters past, a little extra swing in her spandex-clad hips.

She can feel his eyes rove over her, a near-physical sensation. When she looks back over her shoulder at him, his eyes drift lazily from her ass to her face. As if he wanted to be caught checking her out.

As if he knows exactly what game she's playing.

As if he wants to play, too.

When she settles in at the adduction/abduction machine, his jaw goes slack with realization, but it isn't until after she gets the weights adjusted, after she does her first rep, pushing against the machine to get her thighs open, and then closed again, that he loses his pace and nearly trips.

She feels her arousal more and more every time her legs meet, and hopes any place her wetness might be showing through her pants will be chalked up, by most, to sweat. But she forces Bellamy to meet her gaze, his eyes growing darker and darker with each rep, and knows he'll see it for what it truly is:

A challenge.

As it turns out, getting them both good and worked up is easy.

His opening gambit is effective to say the least. Her eyes catch on the curve of his ass as he squats, muscles flexing and straining under the barbell resting on his broad shoulders. It does nothing to slow her heartbeat, steadily pounding from combined exertion and anticipation. She can feel her pulse hammering in her chest, in her neck, even between her legs, relentless.

Clarke retaliates by dropping to the floor in a spot where he's got a prime view, propping her legs wide open as she stretches, showing him just how flexible she can be. Doing crunches with her pussy in his direct line of sight, stretching out her back in the downward-facing dog position she learned in her yoga class, her ass high in the air and perfectly accentuated by the pants that leave nothing to the imagination.

To her surprise, Bellamy actually comes over to her on his way to the cycling machines.

"You can do better than that," he chuckles, pushing her chest more toward the ground with one hand flat between her shoulder blades. Clarke's muscles protest, her breathing quickening, but by the time she finds words again, he's already gone.

Clarke sees her chance to parry when he when he moves on to the bench press. Lying down, his face is level enough with her pussy that when she comes near, she's _sure_ he can smell her arousal.

She hums. "I like you like this."

"Sweaty?" He's trying for teasing, but his voice is too affected to nail the mark.

"Flat on your back."

He chokes, his knuckles white as he tightens his grip on the bar. "Jesus, Clarke."

She smiles wickedly and runs a finger across the bar the way she wants to do with his cock: a featherlight, barely-there graze of the smooth, cool surface. He wets his lips when her path trips over his fingers. She wonders if he can feel the echo of her pulse all the way in her fingertips. If he knows what kind of effect he's having on her. She closes her hand firmly around the bar and gives one sharp stroke, making it slip in his grip, and she can see his jaw tic strong and steady.

"Need someone to spot you?" She asks innocently, tracing each of his knuckles in turn. He catches her hand sharply and shifts his hips. She can't help the way her eyes flicker down to his lap, just to check.

She's definitely having an effect on him, too.

"I'm good, thanks." His voice is rougher than before. She wants to bask in it forever. "I just won't overreach."

"Saving your strength for the main event. Smart."

"Clarke."

His voice cracks on her name, something helpless and maybe even a little pained breaking through, and she immediately drops the act.

"If you don't want me, just say so," she says in a low voice. "I won't hold it against you."

He sighs and sits up, turning her hand over for a surer grip and tugging her off the main floor toward the back hallway.

She trails behind him willingly, her curiosity piqued when he punches in the code for one of the training rooms, the ones with the extra-nice weight equipment, reserved for student athletes. And, apparently, Bellamy.

Her heartbeat in her ears drowns out every other noise but she fights it. This probably doesn't mean what she wants it to mean. He just wants a more private place to let her down easy. They can't exactly have this conversation where prying ears can hear.

Of course, that theory goes up in flames when he shuts the door behind them and pushes her up against it all in one motion, his hands rough and large and warm against her rib cage, his mouth immediately capturing hers in a dirty, deep kiss.

She can't do much but open for him when his tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting her, staking his claim. He traps her lip between her teeth until she whimpers, and he growls in response. She can feel the rumble in his chest in every place he's flush against her, yet she pulls him closer and closer still, clings to him helplessly as he pours every bit of bottled-up sexual tension from the last—week, really—into the kiss.

When she has to pull away to breathe, he trails sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

"Me not wanting you is really not the problem," he grumbles into her skin.

She slides her hands down to his ass and pulls his hips firmly against her own, his cock growing even harder when she grinds against him. His head drops, his tongue snaking out to lick at beads of sweat along her collarbone.

"Then fuck me," she rasps.

He looks completely wrecked when he pulls back to search her face, to make sure she means it.

"Come on, Bellamy." She pulls him back to her and bites at the shell of his ear, the heat of her breath palpable as she urges, " _Fuck me_."

"Fuck." He shivers. His lips seek hers again, demanding, but this time she can keep up. This time she can kiss him back with bruising force, can tug on his curls to angle him how she wants him, a little bit sharp and a little bit rough. This time she can lure his tongue back into her mouth and give it teasing sucks that elicit the best noises she's ever heard in her life.

Bellamy, apparently coming to some sort of resolve with himself, trails his hand down her skintight pants, her leg trembling and threatening to give out when he skims his fingers lightly against the back of her thigh. But then his big hand is wrapping firmly under her knee, hitching her up on his hip so he can grind against her just right, just the pressure of his hardness in the place she wants it most, and she thinks maybe making her weak at the knees is what he was going for.

He ruts against her again and she gasps into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair almost to the point of pain. That only seems to spur Bellamy on and he settles into a rhythm.

 _In_.

He pins her to the door, as if worried she might want to be anywhere else. The metal is solid and unyielding against her back, his cock nearly as stiff. His gym shorts slide across her yoga pants, all smooth glide and the exact right kind of friction at her core, coiling her tight like a spring.

 _Out_.

He draws away, her hips tripping forward, searching, chasing that delicious feeling, the air between them charged with anticipation.

Clarke leverages herself up with her forearms on his shoulders, tugging his head back to follow hers as she clambers for a better angle.

And _fuck_ does she find one. The moan she makes when her hips open up enough to give his hardness access to her clit, to the parts of her that are now pulsing with need, is wanton. And far louder than anything she allowed herself in the library.

He does it again, chasing that sound. Unable to hold it back, Clarke obliges.

"Fuck, Clarke," he pants against her jaw, mouth hanging open too sloppy for it to really be called a kiss. "Fuck, babe. The sounds you make, I haven't been able to get them out of my head all week."

Clarke means for it to be a gasp, but he's been working the straps of her sports bra down her arms, and when he finally gets it around her middle and closes his lips around her breast, her voice comes out high and desperate.

He attacks her with fervor, his teeth scraping against her soft skin, his tongue working circles over her nipple, lavishing it until it's hard. Feasting on her as if he might consume her, as if he's a man starving and she's his favorite meal, the one he's dreamt of most. As if he's been driven mad imagining this, and is doing his best to work her over into insanity as well.

Between the pressure of his hard-on and the attention he's showering on her tits, Clarke nearly _does_ go out of her mind.

"Bellamy," she groans. "I can't—I need—"

"Come on, beautiful," he growls, switching to the other breast and trailing his tongue through the valley between them as he goes. "Tell me what you need, Clarke."

"I'm going to come if we keep going like this," she warns him, even as she sinks down to meet his cock.

"Me too, Princess. Nothing wrong with that," he teases, sucking long and hard at her nipple, grinding filthy and hot and perfect into her. Clarke almost yanks on his hair as she tugs his head up from her sensitive breasts, his eyes darker than she's ever seen them and his lips red and swollen.

"I need something inside me," she tells him, all she can manage before drawing his well-kissed lower lip into her mouth to abuse further.

He groans and pants into her mouth for a moment, then pushes away from the wall, his hands on her ass holding him steady against him. Each step rocks his him against her. A drop of sweat rolls from his hairline down his neck, and Clarke chases its path with her tongue.

Her arms snake around his shoulders, holding her close against him as he staggers back in a controlled fall onto the seat of the nearest weight machine.

She crowds into his space, wanting no room between them, nothing but flesh on flesh, clothes damp and stuck to skin twisted between them. Bellamy seems to agree, one of his hands dragging up her spine, underneath her tank top, big and warm as she's imagined. His other dips into the waistband of her pants, the first touch of his finger to the crease of her hip a shock that has her lurching forward in his arms.

His finger trails around her outer folds, exploring and igniting her need.

"This what you needed, Princess?" He whispers, rough and low in her ear.

"Not quite." She mouths at the cord of muscle in his shoulder. "But it's a start."

Because he's Bellamy, of course he can't just give her what she wants. No, he has to make her squirm first.

One of his fingers circles her opening tantalizingly slowly, gathering her wetness and drawing it almost up to her clit before retreating again. He starts to repeat the motion, his other hand firm on her hip, holding her still when she tries to buck against his hand, to get him where she wants him.

"Bell," she groans, when he starts in on the same pattern a third time. "If you won't finish what i started here, I will."

He laughs shakily against her mouth. "You say that like I _don't_ want to watch you get yourself off on my lap."

"Next time," she breathes, fingernails digging into his biceps when he draws a circle around her clit but doesn't give her the direct pressure she craves. "Bellamy–"

"I got you." He sinks the tip of one finger inside her, the heel of his palm brushing against her clit, and she can feel his smirk against her temple as her walls clench on almost nothing.

"God, you're fucking soaked, Princess. You love knowing anyone could walk in on us, don't you? How anyone could walk by and hear your pretty mouth running. Anyone could walk in and see you getting finger-fucked." Her walls clench again as he teases the tip of a second finger, stretching her wider but not going any deeper inside her. He chuckles and Clarke nips at his neck in retaliation. "Getting off in public really does it for you, huh?"

" _You_ really do it for me," she says, letting her forehead fall against his. " _Fuck_ , Bellamy. I need—"

He sinks two large fingers inside her, filling her fast and hard, the curl of them hitting her just right. Her head drops to his shoulder and she tries to muffle her keening in his skin. She's pretty sure he's ruining her for anyone else's hands ever again, and she can't even bring herself to mind, it's so good.

He pumps his fingers in and out of her at a steady pace, working her up and up and up like a roller coaster. Every time he draws them back, his thumb glides along her clit in one long stroke. Every time he fills her again, he hits that same perfect spot, the one that has Clarke unspooling from the inside out.

It's oddly quiet, her words hanging in the air with nothing but the sound of her panting against his shoulder and her arousal on his fingers. When her walls start to spasm, everything in her growing tight, he sets his hand firmly against her clit, a constant pressure that pushes her to the edge and finally, finally over.

His lips rest in the hollow behind her ear as she rides through it, a chaste, sweet kiss even as he keeps his hand going through her aftershocks.

She finally pushes his hand away and licks at his lips, sloppy and lazy and not nearly enough to articulate everything she wants to tell him. He smiles under her mouth, both of them dissolving into breathless laughter when Clarke bangs her elbow on the bar of the machine.

"Good?" He asks, his hands running up and down her sides.

She shakes her head, the motion catching her eye where it's reflected in the mirror behind him.

"You haven't gotten off yet."

"I don't have to. I've got a perfectly good hand—"

She drops her hips down on his like she had earlier and his _perfectly good hands_ flex on her hips, stilling her. He's hard and big, she can feel it, and she wants to make him feel good. She wants to make him feel everything.

"You don't have to—" he starts, but she cuts him off with a lingering kiss.

"Bellamy," she says fondly. "I _want_ to. I want _you_."

"Oh," he whispers, finally getting it.

Clarke grins and scrambles off his lap, pulling him after her.

"What—"

"This is for you," she says, backing toward the mirrored wall and letting him cage her in. She tugs him in for one more kiss before pulling down her pants and turning to brace her hands against the mirror.

He meets her eyes over her shoulder in the mirror, his gaze dark with understanding.

"Fuck," he groans, letting his hands travel around her as he steps in close. Clarke smirks.

"That's the idea."

His hands fall on her ass immediately, squeezing gently at the flesh there before moving further down. He brushes his thumbs over her pussy, a gentle hello to the territory he's now familiar with, and Clarke feels her body winding up again. She actually twitches when he gives her a gentle kiss on her lower back, and then, kneeling, on her clit.

"Bellamy," she urges. "I had my turn."

"I don't get to pick what I want for my turn?" He teases, flicking his tongue out to taste her arousal. Clarke moans, so distracted by the sensations he's giving her that she hardly notices him nudging her thighs further apart, caressing her ankles until she slides her feet into a wider stance.

"No," she finally manages. "You get to fuck me for your turn. And then, fuck-- you can have another turn when we get home. For the library."

He pauses, petting at her knee when she whines.

"When we get home, huh?"

"God, I thought we already went over this. You're coming home with me today. And every day. Unless we go to your place, which we probably should because you have your own room. Okay?"

"Better than okay." He places a sweet kiss on the inside of her thigh and stands back up, tugging his shorts down as he goes.

She watches in the mirror as his cock springs loose, her mouth watering as she takes in the size and shape of it. His hands finally look proportional to something as he wraps one around the base, giving himself short tugs. As if he isn't hard enough, after all that.

Clarke licks her lips when he catches his precum with his thumb, spreading it around and slicking himself up. Her eyes flicker up to meet his in the mirror, every bit as hungry for this as she is.

"I don't, uh-- I don't exactly bring condoms with me to the gym," he says, thinking of it for the first time.

"I'm clean, I'm on the pill, and I need you in me."

Bellamy laughs once, sharp and predatory. "I guess that answers that."

He steps closer, wrapping one hand around her hips and guiding his cock between her folds, getting himself ready for her. When the tip bumps against her sensitive clit she jerks against him. His hand squeezes her waist, steadying her, and she finds his gaze again. Bellamy must see something in it that reassures him she's ready for this, wants this, _needs_ this, because the next thing she knows he's pushing into her.

He takes it slow, her walls clinging to every bit of him. Fresh beads of sweat accumulate on her back, her neck as he waits for her to adjust a little before pressing in another inch. Her jaw drops open when his dick twitches within her. It's like nothing she's ever felt before. Words, voice, thoughts fail her, no room for anything in her mind and body but _Bellamy_.

When he bottoms out, she reaches one hand back to grasp his on her hip, simultaneously stilling him and satisfying her desperation to have something to hold onto. Her other hand is still braced against the mirror, the glass fogging beneath her clammy skin. Evidence, she thinks. For whichever lucky student uses the room next.

Bellamy makes a _tsk_ sound and moves both their hands so he's pressing hers into the mirror again. It's a silent command not to move, a silent ploy to be closer to her as his fingers link with hers.

The shift in angle, the way he seizes control, the intimacy of it is what gets her and she clenches down on him.

"Fuck," he bites out. "You good?"

"I'm good. Bellamy, _move_."

"Whatever you say, Princess."

And move, he does. Holy _shit_. He hardly pulls out at all before he's thrusting back into her, the wildness of his frantic movements a testament to how long he's been holding back. Every time he draws back from her snug hold she feels the head of him drag against her channel. Every time he slams back into her, it's the slap of flesh against flesh, a sudden and utter fullness she never even imagined.

For a few moments, Clarke can do nothing but hold on helplessly. She wants to rock back to meet him, but she's so overwhelmed by the way it feels to be really and truly fucked by Bellamy that she completely loses all capability.

The hand not covering hers slides up her back, a soothing motion at odds with the rough way he's taking her. She relaxes into his gentle strokes, swivels her hips enough to make them both gasp.

"That's right, baby. Get what you need," he murmurs.

Clarke forces her eyes open, wanting to take full advantage of the mirror she'd nearly forgotten about. The sight of him pounding into her is almost too much to take. She shudders and grinds back at the exact right moment to meet his thrust, earning moans from both of them.

The hand on her back slides up until it's between her shoulder blades, just like it had been out on the main floor, before. When she feels the light pressure of his fingertips this time, she folds easier, pliable after the workout, and in the face of wanting to please him. _You can do better than that_ , she thinks to herself, echoing his earlier words, and sinks deeper into the pose even without his encouragement.

With her hands braced against the wall and her feet apart, it recalls memory inextricably tied to her muscles– feelings of control and power, of strength, of being centered. She rides back on his dick, more confident this time, and revels in his breathless groan.

She does it again, and again, his tempo increasing to the point she knows he's close.

Clarke lifts her head, needing to see his face as he comes. He's so hot, so beautiful like this: the cords of his neck standing out, skin flushed and vibrant. The way his eyes are hooded, the way his mouth has fallen open, egg her on in her movements. She's not sure anymore who's fucking whom, but she doesn't really care. There will be time for both. For either. For everything.

As she watches him, she sees shadows moving on the frosted-glass door panels.

"People in the hall," she warns him in a throaty whisper. His hand squeezes hers. He's at the edge. "I wonder if any of them are headed for this room. Looking for a workout, and instead they see you fucking me from behind. They'd get to see me making you come." Her hips circle and he stifles a groan.

"It turns you on just as much as it turns me on, doesn't it babe?" She says, almost losing thread of what she's saying with release on the horizon. "Show me, Bellamy. Show me how much you like it."

As if waiting for her demand, he comes, his hips stuttering as he spills his load inside her. Clarke's walls flutter feebly around him, exhausted from her last orgasm but too turned on to resist following him over the edge.

He pulls out when he catches his breath, stuffing himself back into his shorts before leaning down to help Clarke pull her pants back up. She makes a face. Her undergarments are soaked through with come and sweat, her limbs sore and loose at the same time.

Bellamy grins at her expression and brushes her hair out of her face, cupping her face for a quick kiss.

"You know, I've got a pretty good shower back at my place," he tells her.

"Yeah?" She teases. As if she has any intention of going home alone, or anywhere else, after this. "Throw in dinner and I'm there."

He pretends to think it over.

"Deal."

"Deal."

They do a quick, cursory wipe-down of all the surfaces they might have contaminated (except the handprints on the mirror; those, Clarke leaves, beaming at them with pride) and make sure everything is as they left it before heading for the door.

Just as they reach it, they hear the beep of the electronic lock and it swings open. The girls standing there shoot them an apologetic look.

"Sorry," the girl in the front says. "We didn't know anyone was in here."

"We've finished," Clarke says brightly, Bellamy trying not to choke at the double entendre. "The room's all yours."

"Thanks."

They slip past what looks like the girl's lacrosse team and out the side of the building. Bellamy grabs her hand at the crosswalk and Clarke tries not to smile too widely.

"You know if they had security cameras we'll never be allowed back again, right?" He asks, trying (and failing) to sound annoyed.

Clarke lets her smile loose.

"Yep," she says cheerfully. "That's half the fun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments! This is all I have planned for this fic as of now but if anyone wants to request other public places for these two lovebirds to get it on I might consider adding more...


	3. (Un)dressing room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets dressed up, then dressed down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this one came to me and I couldn't let it go. Will I keep updating? Who knows, tbh

For a couple with a healthy sex life who got together in the course of discovering their public sex kinks, Clarke and Bellamy don't have _that_ much public sex.

In fact, after that time in the gym they mostly keep to beds (and walls and tables and couches) that belong to them. The sex is still great, still hot as fuck, still the best sex of Clarke's life. She's never been happier.

But every time they're out somewhere and her eyes catch on the broad planes of his chest, or his mussed curls, or the scar above his lip that she likes to scrape her teeth and then her tongue over, she can't help but wonder. Was it really as good for him as it was for her? Or was it just the novelty of fucking Clarke that got him hard and ready for her?

She can't help but wonder if he wants it to be a thing they do. Whether he wants an encore, or if it was a one- (well, two-) time thing.

But because he's Bellamy, and she loves him, and they've always understood each other, she knows she can talk to him about it. So she brings it up the next time it occurs to her.

"Are we ever going to do this in public again?"

He pauses with his tongue still inside her, and Clarke squirms, missing his movement. Bellamy slips a finger into her in apology, and then another, finding that spot that always gets her extra keyed-up.

"I'm not opposed to the idea," he says, each word vibrating against her folds. "This not good enough for you, babe? You want to move this to the couch, give Miller a show?"

Clarke wrinkles her nose and tugs reproachfully at his hair between her fingers.

"Don't mention Miller while we're having sex, please."

She can feel his smile on her clit before his tongue snakes out to lap at it, broad, firm strokes that make her whimper.

"So good," she pants, letting her nails trail bluntly down the back of his neck. "It's always so good with you. You're always so good to me, Bellamy."

He flicks her clit side to side instead of answering, and when his teeth graze over it she comes in a flash, galaxies swimming before her eyes, her head spinning. He kisses his way up her body, fingers gentle inside her as he goes, settling on his side next to her and propping his head in his free hand. When her eyes flutter open, finally returning her to his bedroom, he's gazing down at her with such fondness she feels dizzy again.

She strains for a kiss and he grants one, sweet and short.

He's still fucking her on his fingers, her walls pulsing with aftershocks every now and then. It's not enough to get her going all the way, but she also can't come all the way down from the high, her skin buzzing with desire.

"Insatiable," she mutters. He smirks and noses at her breast, his warm breath falling light across her skin and raising goosebumps. She whines when he pulls his head back.

"You started this conversation," he reminds her.

She huffs, put out. "I nearly jumped you at that thing at your professor's house the other night, but I wasn't sure you'd want me to."

"I thought about it too," he admits. "Dragging you into the bathroom, you up on the counter so I could get my head under that pretty little sundress of yours."

Clarke shivers at the combination of his fingers and his words.

"Why didn't you?"

Bellamy laughs. "I don't know, babe. I think I got so used to thinking I couldn't have you before we got together that... moments like that, I forget that I can."

Clarke kisses his shoulder, the only part of him she can reach.

"You have me," she promises. He smiles and leans in for another kiss, scissoring his fingers inside her just enough so that she gasps, so that he can fuck his tongue into her mouth and lick the taste of that promise out.

"It's your show," he tells her, eyes trained on her face as he starts winding her up again, a little rougher than before. "Feel free to jump me anytime."

She groans and rolls so that she's on top, one of her hands stroking his cock in time with her riding down on his fingers. His head falls back against the mattress, pillows lost somewhere on the floor.

"I'm going to take you up on that," she promises, her free hand circling her clit.

After that talk, the thought prods her whenever they're out together. At Raven's apartment playing games, taking a walk through the campus gardens. It's a near miss when they're at laser tag for Monty's birthday; while there are plenty of dark corners she could pull him off to, she's also far too competitive to let his trash-talk stand.

The thing that finally cracks her resolve is to be expected: he needs a new dress shirt and slacks for job interviews, and she agrees to stop in with him at the store on their way to lunch one day.

And then as they browse the racks– Clarke holding up every offensively orange or hideously flowered shirt she can find, Bellamy wearing his serious expression as he scrutinizes two blue button-ups that appear identical– she starts imagining him all dressed up. Picturing Bellamy in a suit is something she's surprisingly never done before, and it's a mental image she really likes.

Likes so much that when he goes to step into the dressing room and the attendant is nowhere to be seen, she follows him back.

And locks the door behind her.

"What are you doing?" He asks, bewildered. Clarke just smiles, placing a finger to her lips. She has no idea how many other dressing rooms are occupied, whether sound will travel at all, but Bellamy seems to get the idea when a hand on his chest presses him back into the wall and she drops to her knees in front of him.

He lets out a slow breath, dropping the armful of clothes on the little stool in the corner and watching with hooded eyes as she pops open the button on his jeans and slowly lowers the zipper.

Her hands pet the tops of his thighs and one of his finds her hair, combing back the strands that have fallen in her face.

"You can't make a mess," he breathes, his voice already wrecked.

She grins up at him. "I don't intend to."

Before he can say anything else she leans in and kisses the tip of his dick, one of her fingers ghosting along his shaft. She's familiar enough with his body by now that she knows how to get him to the edge fast, how to make him linger there, how to draw it out. She has all the control here, and they've got nowhere to be, so she can make this little escapade last as long as she wants.

He bites into his lower lip, muffling a noise as she flickers her tongue against his frenulum, barely touching him but getting him harder by the second. When she blows her exhale along the length of him, his cock stirs.

Normally when they do this, with all but Clarke's hair and face out of his reach, his words are the only tools left in his arsenal to get her to give him what he wants. He'll talk filthy to her, laying out exactly what he wants to do to her, spinning sonnets about how much he likes her mouth on him.

This time, however, that tool is unavailable to him. He can't do anything but take whatever she gives him, and the rush of power that comes with that has her wishing his leg was between her thighs, some sort of friction for her to take the edge off.

Bellamy is leaking precum now. With the same finger that's been teasing him, giving him the lightest suggestion of a touch, she swipes it from his tip, eyes locking with his as she takes her fingers in her mouth. His cock _really_ takes interest at that, his throat bobbing as he swallows back his reaction.

The familiar taste of him on her tongue has her fucking her fingers deep into her mouth, chasing every last drop of him. When she removes them, they're thoroughly soaked.

Clarke finally gives in to the plea in his eyes, dragging the backs of her saliva-coated fingers down his cock, her knuckles bumping against his smooth skin. Her fingertips trace back and forth over his vein, firmer than before but light enough to still be maddening, and then she takes just the head of him into her mouth, her tongue darting forward in search of his taste once again.

She closes her lips around him enough to give him one, two, three quick and gentle sucks before pulling off again. As if to keep her there, his fingers flex in her hair, but he lets her set the pace, lets her direct herself to the base of his dick, where she curls her lips around him and gives him a long, slow stroke back up to the tip.

Bellamy's breathing is quiet but heavy. In absence of the moans and praise that spill from his lips to encourage her, Clarke relishes in the knowledge that he wants to speak but can't. If he isn't quiet, they might be interrupted, and then he wouldn't get to come.

The thought of being interrupted makes her clench down on nothing, and it's enough to push her to take him back in her mouth, more of him this time, her hand circling the parts she can't quite reach.

He breathes sharply through his nose as Clarke sets a rhythm. His head tips back against the wall behind him and she wonders if next time, she could be the one up against the wall, letting him fuck her, then fuck her mouth so she can taste both of them.

Clarke's eyes fall closed and she gives him a suck as she draws back this time, losing herself in just how turned-on she's gotten him, just how much she loves his cock. She swirls her tongue around the tip before pulling all the way off, and his eyes fly open. His hips sway forward but Clarke guides them back where they belong, watching his pretty mouth hang open as he pants.

Just as she gets him back in her mouth, deeper than before, the door rattles. Someone is trying to get in.

"Occupied," Bellamy grunts. Clarke grins at him as much as she can and does that fluttering thing with her tongue that makes him lose his mind. His eyes roll back in his head a little, neither of them particularly attuned to the apology the almost-intruder calls before shuffling on down to the next stall.

If they'd bent down to look under the door, checking whether anyone was in there, they would've seen Clarke on her knees and known precisely what was going on.

She does the tongue-fluttering thing again, needing to wrap this up before she gets so hot she loses her grip on her own need. Bellamy's hand tightens in her hair, a warning, and she bobs down on his cock as far as she can. He meets a little resistance at the back of her throat, but Clarke has done this enough she knows to relax, to breathe through her nose. Her throat relaxes for him just in time for Bellamy to come, one hand on her face to feel the stretch of her lips around him, the other clenched in her hair.

She maneuvers back carefully when he's done, licking her lips and giving his limp cock a chaste kiss before she zips it away again.

He curls a hand around the back of her neck and hauls her up for a kiss, wet and sloppy in the wake of his orgasm. Clarke smiles against his lips, pride and arousal and affection lighting her up from the inside.

"Come on," he whispers, grabbing one of the shirts at random.

"You're not even going to try it on?"

"Fuck, I can barely stand. I'll try it on at home."

She giggles and follows him out, dropping the discarded clothes on the attendant's counter as they pass. The woman there blinks at them, trying to make sense of it, and Bellamy gives her a blessed-out smile.

"I'm helpless without her guidance."

"So many men are," the woman agrees, relaxing and smiling back. "Find everything you were looking for?"

"I think we're all set."

"You have a good day."

"You too."

When they get to the car he presses her up against it to kiss her again. She finally lets herself admit how much she's aching for him, how needy she is for a release of her own.

"So, uh– I'm definitely into that," he laughs. "In case you were wondering."  
  
Clarke hums and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

"I'll _definitely_ keep that in mind."


	4. Drive you crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy has a thing for cars.

"Nervous?"

Bellamy stops his drumming on the steering wheel and glares at her. "So what if I am? I'm meeting the parents. I have every right to be nervous."

"You most definitely are not 'meeting the parents,'" she says, adding air quotes. "For one thing, you've already met them."

Bellamy had helped Clarke move into her apartment junior year, and Abby insisted upon treating all of Clarke's friends to pizza afterward. Marcus thought him a bright young man and Clarke insisted he didn't know him very well.

"It's the first time since we've been dating."

"Is not. You saw each other at graduation like two days ago." That's when the lunch invitation had been issued and begrudgingly accepted. Not that Clarke worries her mother will dislike Bellamy, or cares very much if she does. It's just that Abby doesn't do casual very well and that makes it all feel like a bigger deal than it probably is. Cue the Bellamy freak out.

"I've never met the pagents of anyone I dated before," he admits. Clarke reaches over and takes one of his gigantic hands in both of hers.

"It's not meeting the parents. It's having lunch with my mom, who you already know, and Marcus, who is not really my parent."

Bellamy gives her a sideways glance and squeezes her hand. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know. I like Marcus. He's good for Mom. He's always been supportive of me. But I've been an adult for their entire relationship. He didn't _parent_ me." She pauses. "Even if he tried."

 He laughs. "As stepdads go, he could be worse. Trust me."

"Yeah I'm not getting into that competition with you. They want me to be happy. I know I'm lucky. And because that's what they want for me, it means you're already on their good side."

"I'm still not eating anything I can't pronounce."

"Fair enough."

Lunch goes smoother even than Clarke expected, with so many personalities at the table who are inclined to fight and die on every hill they come to. Abby's book club is reading a novel that Bellamy unsurprisingly has a multitude of opinions on, and it's nice for Clarke to have Marcus there to exchange looks with when the two of them start nitpicking each other's characterizations. 

"He seems like a good boy," Abby says to Clarke later, keeping her voice low enough the men won't hear her over the running water as they wash the dishes. 

Clarke wants to smile but rolls her eyes instead. "He's twenty three, Mom. He's not a boy."

"Excuse me, a good _man_ ," she corrects herself, amused. "He seems very... open."

Now Clarke does smirk, because that's Abby-speak for 'blunt'.

"He doesn't hold back what he's thinking very often," she agrees. Her mother laughs and shakes her head.

"That's putting it mildly."

Just then Bellamy sticks his head into the living room, catching Clarke's eye and smiling. "Marcus is going to show me the car he built. I'll be back in a minute."

"He finished?" Asks Clarke, perking up. "I want to see."

They follow Marcus to the garage, oohing and ahhing appropriately over the finished product– a downright gorgeous cherry-red convertible. Vintage on the outside, new and improved under the hood, he tells them. Bellamy runs his hands reverently over it in a way that gets Clarke warm under her skin, asking Marcus question after question while Clarke listens on in bemusement.

"I didn't know you were so into cars," she teases when he lets Marcus catch a break.

"I worked in a garage some in high school. I guess some stuff stuck." He grins at Marcus. "Nothing nice as this ever came in though, that's for sure."

When Clarke looks at Marcus, he's watching them with a fond expression.

"You want to take it for a spin?"

"Seriously?" Bellamy asks, catching the keys when he tosses them to him out of reflex rather than any real input from his brain. He looks to Clarke. "What do you say? Want to take a ride around the block?"

"It's a nice day," Marcus interrupts, waving the thought away. "With the top down, you really need to experience something a little faster than these neighborhood roads."

"If you're sure–"

"I insist."

"You heard him," Clarke says, elbowing Bellamy so he'll move toward the driver's seat. "He insists. Guess we have no choice."

"Twist my arm."

It _is_  a nice day for a drive, the sun warm on her shoulders, Bellamy's hand warmer where it spans her knee and inner thigh. In fact, she's warm all over and they've barely left the neighborhood. She tries to focus on the cool kiss of the breeze on her skin, the clusters of shade that pass over them like waves. Just when she thinks she's starting to wind down, his fingers twitch or the car will rattle beneath her and she's back at the top again.

"I love this car," he blurts after a few minutes, breaking the silence so thoroughly they both have to laugh.

"I'm sure the two of you will be very happy together," she teases, patting his arm. His hand tightens on her leg, fingers slipping up toward the hem of her skirt ever so slightly, and Clarke's breath catches in her throat. He freezes, the pressure of his skin against hers lightening until she thinks he's about to pull away from uncertainty.

Bellamy has never been the one to make the first move, not when they're out in public like this. Whatever he's doing now, this is _special_. 

So instead of letting him draw back, she lets her knees fall open as wide as they can in the passenger seat, one of her legs resting against the door while the other bumps the center console.

She keeps her eyes on the road ahead but she can still see him swallow heavily and it makes her smirk.

His hand moves again, this time stroking gently down toward her knee. As the tips of his fingers graze her sensitive skin, Clarke's heart starts to race. Her own hands tighten their hold on the door and the armrest as he drags his hand in maddeningly slow, painfully gentle circles.

"Wow, you _really_  love this car," she manages. 

Bellamy smirks and starts back up toward the crease of her hip, keeping his pace slow and steady even as he gets them on the highway. It's a Sunday afternoon and few others are on the road, most at home napping or doing chores close to home. Even with his focus split, Clarke believes in Bellamy's ability to not crash them into anything. After all, she's the one losing her mind with want.

"I have a thing about cars," he admits, barely audible over the revving engine and whistling wind.

"Yeah, babe?" She pets his forearm, trying to encourage his hand to go higher. He lets his nails scrape against her as he moves away from where she wants him. Her whole body shivers. "I showed you my kink. How come you never showed me yours?"

"Didn't know we could get our hands on a car like this." This time when his hand ventures back up her leg, Clarke lifts her ass off the seat so her skirt will push up with it. The sharp intake of breath she gets in return is gratifying, but not gratifying enough.

"So it's not just any car."

He shakes his head. "Vintage cars. One of my mom's boyfriends had one when I was in high school. Never let me drive it."

"Dick," Clarke mutters instinctively, and is rewarded with Bellamy slipping his hand under the waistband of her panties to run his knuckles across her mons. Her hips stutter forward but the seatbelt catches with the suddenness of the movement, keeping her firmly in place. Bellamy grins.

"No backseat driving, Princess."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd give me what I need," she grumbles, petulant. Bellamy laughs softly and rakes his nails across her skin. Clarke feels her walls pulse, desperate for something between them, and sinks her teeth into her lower lip to stifle a moan. 

"Be nice or I'll turn this car around," he warns, tugging on her pubic hair just enough for one sharp sting, which he immediately soothes by petting her. His hand still isn't where she needs it most, but the weight of his strokes is promising.

"I can be nice." She tips her head back against the seat, struggling to keep her eyes open. With only one hand on the steering wheel, it's probably best they both have their eyes on the road.

"I know you can. You're going to be so good for me." His hand travels down again– finally– but traces the crease of her hip, the place where it meets her ass and thigh, staying out of reach of her outer lips. 

"Keep talking to me," she grits out, taking on a "Please," hastily when he starts to remove his hand.

"What do you want to hear, baby?"

"Tell me more about your car _thing_."

He laughs, thumb sweeping back and forth along the edge of her panties. "The very first date I ever went on, I stole my stepdad's car to pick her up. Drove through McDonald's, because we were both broke and I knew it would piss him off more for his precious car to smell like greasy fries. Then we went up to this lookout spot and someone else got me off for the first time in my life."

"God, could you be more of a cliche?" Clarke laughs, gasping when his fingers finally make their way to her center. They move in a long, firm caress up the center of her underwear and she knows he can feel exactly how turned on she is by– pretty much everything that's happening.

"I know, I know," he laughs. "Fuck, I didn't even– I couldn't even get her off. I didn't have any clue what I was doing. And honestly, I think I cared more about sticking it to the asshole dating my mom than the date itself."

Clarke laughs, strained and breathless. "Sounds like you."

"Yeah, it does." He hooks a finger under the material, the first press of him against her heat fucking _miraculous_. "Take these off for me, baby."

Clarke curses and lifts off the seat again, Bellamy only sort of helping her wriggle them over her ass and then down her legs to pool on the floor. When she lets her legs fall open again, his fingers go straight for the well of her cunt, dipping in and twirling around in a ring around the edges before spreading her wetness over her lips.

"I know," he chuckles when she makes a whining noise, high in her throat. "I've got you, Clarke."

"God, fuck." Clarke wrenches her eyes open again and curls her fingernails into her palms to remind herself. "If it makes you feel any better, this is– fuck– this is so much better than teenage fumbling."

He laughs and passes his fingers around her clit, but not on it.

"I know my way around a little better now," he agrees. Clarke gasps as his finger finds her opening again, sinking in to the first knuckle. 

"What would you have done to her?" She asks, chest rising and falling more quickly with each passing second. "If you knew then what you know now."

"Hmm, that's a tough one," he teases, fucking his finger further into her. She clenches down on him. Something is better than nothing, even if she's already ready for more. "First, I'd get her wet and writhing for me. Give her just enough of a touch to work her up but not enough to scratch that itch. Not yet."

"Check," Clarke pants. He laughs.

"You can take another one, can't you babe?"

"Yes, Bellamy, please–"

He pumps his finger slowly in and out of her. "I know you can. That's what I might have done back then, but now–" He presses the heel of his palm against her clit and Clarke lets out a loud, lecherous moan that's immediately lost to the wind. "Now, I know a couple of other tricks."

A car passes them two lanes over and Clarke is suddenly reminded that they're in broad daylight, no windows, no roof acting as a barrier between them and the world. She feels suddenly very exposed, almost vulnerable, and she finds herself clenching tighter around his finger.

"Breathe, baby. I'm not letting you come that easy."

Clarke gulps in air, trying to smother the flames in the pit of her belly. They rescind slowly, slowly as he lets up on her clit and thrusts into her with a second finger. Her breath stutters, ragged, but she manages to keep her grasp on herself at least a little while longer.

"Good girl," he praises her, his voice fond and low. Soothing. "So good for me, babe. So hot, you sitting there with your skirt around your waist, pussy bare for the world to see, keeping yourself open for me. Letting me take care of you."

"You always take care of me, Bell."

"God, how could I not?" He sets an irregular rhythm as he fucks her on his fingers, sometimes teasing at slipping her a third but not quite able to get the angle right. 

Clarke swallows, unable to climb towards that peak again.

"So?" She asks, trying to sound more nonchalant than she feels. Maybe if he thinks she's coming too far down he'll– His thumb and pinky finger trace her labia and prop her open, easing the way for him to fuck her deeper, harder. Her whole body shudders and she loses all vocal ability.

"So what?" He teases. "Cat got your tongue?"

It takes Clarke a minute to regain her thoughts, but eventually she grits out, "So what happened? With the car and the girl?"

Bellamy hums thoughtfully, curling his fingers up and hitting that spot that makes her gooey inside. "I got arrested on my way home for joyriding. Mom convinced the guy not to press charges in the end, but it's on my record I'm pretty sure. It sucked for a while, but it made me cool enough the girl wanted to hook up a couple more times. Offered to teach me."

He finds that spot again, this time pressing down on the outside as well with the heel of his hand on her clit again. Clarke feels like she's being pulled in all directions, clay for molding by his hands.

"Good student," she babbles. "So good. So– ahh, _Bellamy_."

"Shh, shh," he teases, letting up on her clit again. She can feel it throbbing, knows she could come if he would just give it a little attention. But he knows that too and is, well, kind of a dick himself. "I don't know what kind of student I would've been if we'd kept hooking up. She gave me up for a lost cause after only a couple more attempts."

"Her loss."

Bellamy laughs and starts working faster on her, grinding in and out with two fingers (so much larger than Clarke's, so much rougher, so perfect). His hand rubs against her clit as he works and though Clarke has done all she can up to this point to remain still for him, she can't help tilting her hips just enough to get the angle on her clit right where she wants it.

"Worked out pretty well for me," Bellamy tells her.

She barely hears him over the roaring of the wind, the rumble of the road under the tires, the purr of the engine, and the ringing in her ears as he works her hard and fast and mean to the edge. In the side view mirror, she can see an eighteen wheeler approaching in the lane beside them, high enough off the ground someone in the passenger seat would definitely get an eyeful of what's going on. That realization sends her careening over the edge, shattering into a million pieces, and each of those shattering into a million more. By the time she finishes coming and pushes his hand away, overstimulated as he continues to work her through the aftershocks, the truck has passed and she's completely drained of energy. She slumps against the seat, barely cognizant of the way Bellamy smooths her skirt down over her private parts as best he can.

"Worked out the best," she sighs.

He's about to respond when they hear a siren behind them. A police cruiser, signaling for them to pull over. They exchange long looks, Clarke hustling to properly arrange her skirt and kick her panties under the seat, Bellamy dropping the hand that had just been inside her– still drenched in her arousal– between his knees where it hopefully won't be as visible, and where his arm can sort of cover his hard-on.

It's the best they can do, because then there's an officer standing by the driver's side, a notepad in his hands and a stern expression on his face.

"License and registration."

Clarke reaches for the glove compartment, relieved to find that Marcus has the registration there and passes it to Bellamy, who gives it to the cop. He writes a few things down, then raises his eyebrows at them.

"Do you kids know how fast you were going?"

Clarke barely knew her own name. She has no idea what their speed was.

Before either of them can answer, the officer says, "You were traveling fifteen _below_  the speed limit. That's every bit as dangerous as going fifteen over."

"Sorry, officer," Bellamy says, sheepish. "It's my girlfriend's parents' car. I was trying to stay on their good side, you know?"

He doesn't look amused. 

"Don't let it happen again. I'll let you two off with a warning today, but next time it's a ticket. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

Clarke nods, relieved. Not speeding. No ticket. It could have gone wrong ten different ways, but it _didn't_.

The officer gets back in his car and continues on, leaving Clarke and Bellamy still idling on the side of the road. He exhales long and slow, about to say something when she launches herself at him and catches his lips with hers.

He laughs into her mouth, sliding one hand into her hair to angle her better.

"Don't tell me you've got a Bonnie and Clyde kink too," he murmurs. She bites his lip, then laves her tongue over the indentation from her teeth.

"You earned that and more," she tells him. " _Fuck._  Next time I'll drive."

"Yeah?"

She kisses him one more time, then sits back and smirks. "I've always wanted to try my hand at a stick shift."

"That was so bad," he groans, laughing. "How can I be so appalled and so turned on at the same time?"

She grins. "Because I'm the best."

"Yeah." He shakes his head."You really are."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmk if i should keep adding to this! It's fun but idek if anyone is into it besides me


	5. Sex on the Beach

" _Please_ , Bell?"

"No way."

"Come on," Clarke begs, hooking her fingers in his belt loops to pull him closer. He gives her a face that says _I know what you're trying to do and it's not going to work_ , but comes to stand between her knees, his hands resting on the counter on either side of her hips. "The beach at night is my favorite," she tells him, looping her arms around his neck. "No crowds, no overheating. Just the moon and the ocean..."

"Sounds romantic," Miller says from the couch. When Bellamy turns to glare in his direction, he hides his smile behind a sip of the gigantic margarita Raven made for him.

"Do you know how long it took me to get all the sand off of me? And out of me?" Bellamy asks Clarke, unmoved when she starts toying with his curls. "I don't want to track that shit into the bed. Besides, the crabs and I have a deal. They don't bother me during the day and I don't bother them during the night."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "You're really going to stay here."

"Sorry babe," he says, sounding not sorry at all. He leans in and gives her a quick, placating kiss before removing himself from her grasp, going over to collapse on the couch next to Miller. Clarke sighs and trails after him. It's much harder to persuade him when he's in a different room.

Raven gives her an apologetic smile when Clarke perches on the armrest next to her. "I'd go with you, but I overdid it with the volleyball today. My knee is a little swollen, I probably shouldn't be on it."

"And I'd go with you, but I don't want to," Miller says. 

"Fine." Clarke shrugs, innocent. "Then I'll just go by myself."

As expected, this makes Bellamy frown. "What?"

"No one will go with me, so what choice do I have?"

"You could stay here. The others will be back any minute."

Murphy and Harper have gone down to the 24/7 convenience store on the other end of the island in search of some playing cards and Monty and Jasper went in search of more tequila. Nobody had anticipated Raven's generosity in her pouring, not that they were complaining, but they'd definitely need to up their stock if they wanted to make it through the rest of the week.

"No," she sighs. "I'll just go by myself. In the dark. All alone."

Miller turns to Raven and the two snicker like children.

Bellamy groans and heaves himself to his feet.

"If I even see one crab..."

Clarke grins at him and takes his hand. 

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

He laces their fingers as they make their way to the beach access, then falls in line behind her when she starts up the dune. She can already hear the gentle sounds of waves crashing on the shore and it sparks a childlike excitement within her.

"I feel like I got played," Bellamy says after they've walked a little ways with the tide lapping at their ankles. Clarke pauses and turns to face him.

"I was joking before. It's perfectly safe. The moon is bright, I have my phone, and you saw the crowds today: nothing but families and elderly people around. You don't have to come with me."

A smile tugs at his lips. "I've come this far. Might as well."

"Okay." She leans in and kisses him lightly on the lips. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

He pulls her in for a kiss with more promise behind it, one that makes her head spin and her heart pound. He's smirking when he pulls back, as if he knows what affect he has on her.

"Don't worry, I intend to collect later."

She hooks her hands at the small of his back and sways. His hands come to rest on her sides out of habit. Their warmth and the way they span over half the length of her torso make her heart swell. She thought she'd get used to him, and she has, but the familiarity of being in his arms has proven to be even better than the nervous excitement she'd had when it was all new between them.

"Why wait until later?" She purrs, slipping her fingers under the hem of his shirt.

"Clarke," he says in his warning tone.

"Bellamy," she mocks him back. "Look around. Nobody but us... romantic setting..."

"Sand that'll get everywhere," he says in a flat voice. "Families who might be out for their own midnight adventure."

"So we'll go in the ocean."

"Yeah, sure, where there are sharks and hypothermia."

"We're not going to get hypothermia from a quickie this close to our rental house."

"We're not. Because I'm not doing it."

She makes a frustrated noise and lets her head fall to his chest. Then she picks it up again and gives him a smile much like the cat who is about to catch the canary.

"Uh oh. What is that look?"

"I had an idea."

She steps out of his arms and begins walking backwards. He crosses his arms and doesn't budge.

"You coming?"

"That depends. Where you going?"

"One way to find out." Once she's far enough away she can tell he's starting to wonder if he should turn back toward the house and call her bluff, she strips off her shirt and drops it in the sand. She can't tell with all the night between them if it makes his eyes dark and his attention sharpen, but she thinks it probably has.

She backs away a little longer, letting him enjoy the view, then turns to face the direction she's headed in. When she pauses to shimmy out of her shorts, she throws him a look over her shoulder and can tell by the way his arms have dropped to hang loose at his sides that she's got him right where she wants him.

It isn't until she's discarding her bra that he catches up to her, snagging the garment before she can let it go. 

"You're going to have to get dressed eventually, and at this rate you'll have sand in all your clothes," he grumbles. "Which you would deserve. But I'm the one who has to share a bed with you and I don't want it all grainy."

Clarke turns and rises on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. "My hero."

Her bare breasts drag against his forearm. She can feel the hitch in his breathing.

"You want to let me in on your plan now?" He asks, voice gone husky.

She plucks at the sleeve of his t-shirt. "Only if you lose this first."

He does as she asks and she immediately sets to work kissing along the newly uncovered expanse of his shoulders, warm from the sun today and spotted with new freckles. Even though she can tell he still wants to be annoyed with her, she can feel his muscles relaxing under her lips. His free hand comes up to cup the back of her head.

"How does the lifeguard stand sound to you?" She murmurs, biting at his collar bone.

"There'll still be sand," he grumbles. She kisses his neck before drawing away.

"I'll help you wash it all out. I'm _very_  thorough."

By the time they've made it the short way down the beach, she's convinced him to lose his shorts too and they're both down to just their underwear. As she ascends the ladder, he lands a playful smack on her ass. She makes a noise of protest and he smirks.

"Couldn't help myself. It was right there."

"I'm just saying, if you're going to spank me, you ought to put a little heat into it."

He stumbles coming up the ladder and she laughs. It turns into a shriek when he picks her up from behind, twirling her around. His voice rumbles against her skin, low and sultry. "You want to be spanked, Princess?" 

Clarke hums and lifts an arm so she can cup the back of his neck, hold him to her as he kisses the juncture of her neck and shoulder gently.

"I'm not opposed, but right now I really just want to get fucked."

"You know, I sort of got that impression."

His hands come up to cup her breasts. Her skin is more sensitive than usual from the goosebumps brought on by the cool breeze off the ocean, but a few passes of his thumbs on her areolas warms them and soon the chill is replaced by arousal. He places kitten licks up the side of her neck, pressing his hard-on into her ass until she moans.

"Need something?" He teases.

Clarke reaches behind him and slips her free hand under his waistband, squeezing his firm ass and pulling him harder against her. "Feels like I'm not the only one who needs something. Here, let me give you a hand."

She slides her other hand down and eases the fabric over his hips, satisfied to feel his cock grow harder when bare skin meets bare skin.

"So helpful," he murmurs, biting at a cord of muscle. Clarke's knees are going weak. She doesn't know how long she'll last like this.

"I'm a giver," she agrees. "What do you want, babe?"

"I want to make you fall apart." He bites the shell of her ear this time, tugging gently. "Get you back for all that teasing on the beach."

"An admirable goal." Her voice stutters. "Not the action plan I was looking for."

He spins her to face him and pushes her down onto the broad wooden bench. She shivers when Bellamy drops to kneel between her knees, nudging her legs open until he can fit his broad shoulders between them. Without his bigger body wrapped around hers, she feels exposed in a way she hadn't before. In a way that makes a thrill race through her veins. 

There's no cover on the stand; the lifeguard on duty today must have taken their big red umbrella with them when they closed shop. From up here, Clarke can see moonlight glittering off the ocean for miles. From up here, they could really put on a show for any accidental voyeurs who might be on their own post-midnight moonlight stroll. Even though she and Bellamy have pushed the limits without getting caught, they've never been this brazen. This out in the open.

That realization alone has her wet, to say nothing of Bellamy's tongue on her tits or his hands resting on her thighs. They're relaxed for now, little more than a warm, comforting weight, but she knows from experience he's ready to keep her spread open when she starts to lose control.

"You want a plan?" He asks, teeth grazing her skin maddeningly. "A step-by-step itinerary? Fine." He begins to kiss down her sternum, through the valley between her breasts, one of his hands pushing her to recline so he can continue his line down her body without hitting an awkward angle.

"Step one: make you come on my tongue."

Clarke shudders in the best way, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"It's a good start."

Bellamy kisses the inside of her wrist before removing her hands and placing them on her own tits. "Play with those for me, okay babe?"

"Fuck. Okay, Bell." She caresses the soft skin on the sides, underneath, relishing in the drag of her fingernails.

"That's my girl."

He sets to work removing her panties, helping her shift her weight and making sure she feels the slide of the drenched cotton all the way down her legs.

The minute her bare ass comes into contact with the wooden bench, Clarke can feel sand beneath her. Instead of, like Bellamy, thinking about all the ways it will torment her later, she tries to focus on the feeling of abrasion, the way it makes even his gentle movements seem rougher. She's so overwhelmed by the sensation that she almost doesn't realize Bellamy's fingers, drifting along her calf, have lifted one of her legs over his shoulders.

Instead of going straight for her cunt, which she can both feel and smell is dripping with arousal, Bellamy continues to kiss her abdomen. His lips trace the tan line from her bathing suit, right where she's most ticklish. He finds a spot of sunburn on the tops of her thighs that is raw and tender. When his tongue descends on it, Clarke thinks she might combust right then and there.

"Sore?" He murmurs, scraping his teeth against her hip bone and pinning her down when she tries to jerk up into him.

"Nothing a little Aloe won't cure," Clarke pants.

He takes the skin on her hip between his teeth and begins to worry it, intent to leave a mark in one of the few places her suit will conceal. "I'll help you apply it if you want."

Clarke's fingers tighten where they're pinching her nipples as he laves his tongue over his bite mark. "It's not exactly a hard spot to reach."

Bellamy nuzzles the sunburned spot. "I know. I just like it when you let me take care of you."

She laughs and lets one of her hands slip down to pet his hair. "I'm letting you take care of me right now, babe."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do." She whimpers when she feels his hot breath fan over the place she wants him most, yet he bypasses that spot for the inside of her other leg. "Bellamy, please."

"I'm getting there, Princess. Take it easy." He widens her legs, his eyes flickering between her pussy and her face. "Where do you want my mouth?" He asks, brushing his lips against her as he speaks. The rumble of his voice has her moaning and he isn't really hitting any of her buttons directly yet.

"Here?" He asks, kissing her clit lightly. Too lightly to be at all satisfying. She feels him kiss a trail down to her opening, his tongue darting out to taste her folds. "Or here?"

"On my clit," she begs. She knows she'll need him in her at some point, but she's hoping he'll be too worked up himself by that point that he'll let her have his cock.

Bellamy smirks and drags his lips back up her slit. "As the Princess wishes." He removes her hand from his head and puts it back on her tits. "Show me what you want me to do to you, baby."

Clarke flicks one of her nipples with her thumb and gasps high in her throat when he parrots the move with his tongue. She tries to recall the way he starts when he gives her head, moving her thumb in long, slow strokes over her breasts. He mimics them in perfect sync, his eyes trained on her hands. Each lick stirs something wild within her, something primal.

She doesn't mean to step her pace up. It's a natural product of her trying to chase that feeling, trying to keep up with it even as it pulls her along in its wake. She hardly even notices it's happening until she feels him start to slow down. Popping one eye open, she can see his smirk as he keeps time with her hand and she's struck with sudden clarity: this is part of his game. The more she's feeling good, the less coherent thought she's able to devote to her own hands on her breasts. She'd let her motions slow, forgetting that he would mirror them.

He's making her tease herself.

She glares at him and gives her left nipple a firm tweak, crying out when his tongue lashes over her clit again and again as she works herself back up. She manages not to loose the reins this time, clinging to self control even as he works her over into a writhing, pleading mess. With one hand she pinches and rolls her nipple, the other fondling her breast so that even as he traps her clit between his teeth, his other fingers are petting her folds, stroking softly over them. 

The wild feeling inside her bursts all at once, roaring through her with an intensity that takes her by surprise. If it weren't for his hands holding her down, she knows her hips would be bucking like a bull trying to throw its rider. He keeps the pressure steady through her orgasm. It confuses her when he doesn't relent as she starts to come down, until she realizes he's waiting for her to release her own hold on herself. She reverts to soft circles of her knuckles against her tits and he soothes her with calming noises, soft exhalations that keep her prickling with awareness.

"Easy," he murmurs, kissing her clit softly. "That's it, babe. So fucking beautiful. I love it when you know what you want and just... go for it."

"I want you," Clarke whines, dragging his head up to kiss her properly. She can taste herself on him, his chin and lips and even his nose wet with her arousal. She doesn't even let him resituate first, so pulling him up brings the leg over his shoulder up in a deep stretch that only adds to the way she aches for him. Her knee doesn't belong this close to her ear, she's pretty sure, but it puts her hot, still-pulsing pussy right next to his rock-hard cock, and she wants him so badly.

She chases the taste of herself off his face, wrapping her other hand around his dick and beginning to stroke him. He could probably get inside her just like this without any problems, but she wants to touch him. Wants to drive him at least half as crazy as he's driving her.

"Yeah?" His breath is hot and wrecked on her skin. "You want..."

"Just like this," Clarke breathes, turning to the side and tugging until she can lay flat on the bench and he's hovering over her. Bellamy kisses her and draws back despite protests, but only long enough to pick up her other leg. When he leans back in, her thighs burn and her back side chafes against the sandy bench but she has a better angle now to slick him up with her wetness and it's absolutely worth it.

"Step two," Bellamy murmurs, sliding into her with one thrust that has her eyes nearly rolling back in her head from pleasure. "Fuck you until you can't walk straight."

"God, _Bellamy_."

He starts to pull back, preparing himself for another thrust and she scrambles to brace herself against the wooden arm of the chair. Every time he fills her, the sweet sting of fullness is echoed in the stretch of her muscles and the coarse grains against her skin, pain and pleasure nearly indistinguishable from one another. She's trapped beneath him, helpless to move, to give as good as she's getting. If she didn't trust him half as much as she does, this position wouldn't work for her at all. Clarke Griffin does not surrender control easily. But somehow, letting Bellamy take the lead, letting him take her in any way he wants, she can accept without a second thought. 

It's that knowledge that makes warmth begin to bubble in her chest. It's not the same as before, not intense or overpowering or in any way animal. This feeling tightening in her gut is more akin to joy than desire, more affection than passion.

She can tell that he's close by the way he's gone nonverbal, his forehead glistening from exertion and his hand tight on her leg. Clarke chances it to remove one hand from steadying them, bringing it to caress his cheek. Bellamy's eyes snap open and find hers, their eyes locking.

"Almost there," she whispers, unsure whether she's talking about herself or him. Possibly both. Right now, she's not totally sure where she ends and he begins.

He turns his face to kiss her palm as she bubbles over, the flutter of her walls drawing his release out of him. They lay there like that for another moment, panting, collecting themselves, until Clarke has to nudge him to let her out of the awkward stretch. He helps her pull herself into his lap, tucking her head under his chin as they both catch their breaths.

"Well," she says at last. "I probably _can't_  walk straight after that."

Bellamy laughs and kisses her hair. 

"Good. Maybe tomorrow night we can stay in and play poker with our friends, then."

"Yeah, I can tell you weren't into this at all." She rolls her eyes. "Also, this didn't really work as an incentive _not_  to take a moonlight stroll with you."

"Shit. I should've thought this one through."

Clarke kisses his neck. "I'm glad you didn't."

They dress slowly, taking their time as they head back to the rental house. They don't speak, but it isn't awkward. The sound of the waves surrounds them, softening all the edges. Or that might be the afterglow. Clarke isn't sure, doesn't care.

"Thanks for coming out with me," she murmurs as they crest the dune again. Bellamy squeezes her fingers in his.

"Anytime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! ;)


	6. Moving Day (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets a reward. Clarke gets a punishment.

Clarke awakens earlier than she wants to. She can't help it. It's too bright, brighter than usual. She opens one eye to squint angrily for the culprit, and then... oh. She groans. It's bright because her curtains are packed in a box somewhere, waiting to be moved to her new apartment.

Her new apartment that she's sharing with her boyfriend, whom she loves dearly, but still. Today is moving day and it's going to be fucking _hell_.

Bellamy groans back at her, his eyes still closed. Clarke nestles further into his chest, into the mattress, wishing she never had to move from this exact spot.

"What if we moved tomorrow instead," she mumbles, lipping at his skin. "And spent today in bed."

"Can't. We rented that truck, remember?" Bellamy's arm tightens around her, hugging her closer to his chest. "Besides. 'M mad at you."

Clarke braves the brightness to open one eye and peer up at him.

"What for?"

"You fell asleep last night and made me finish packing all by myself."

"Oh." Clarke kisses his collarbone apologetically.

Like the Type A he is, he finished packing his apartment up days ago, and in a classic Clarke move, she'd procrastinated until the night before they were moving. She'd seen it as a challenge at first, but she'd called him in a panic around nine and begged for him to come help her. She'd already owed him one, and that was before falling asleep on him.

"I'm sorry, baby."

"Mmmm hmm." He says, skeptical, but loosens his grip on her to let her kiss across his chest. His hand tangles in her hair, not guiding, not forceful, just present. Showing her he's with her, even if he has yet to open his eyes. "You owe me one."

"One for coming over," she agrees, pushing forward gently until he's flopping onto his back. "And one for finishing the job without me."

She lets her tongue lash out against his nipple and smiles into his pectoral muscle when his hand tightens in her hair.

"You want to collect on that first one now?" She says, innocent. Bellamy finally looks at her through his lashes, so pretty and dark and full.

"If I get a reward," he says thoughtfully, "does that mean you get a punishment?"

Clarke's breath stutters, everything inside of her tightening for one brief moment. Long enough to show her something she didn't know about herself. Bellamy doesn't miss her reaction, his eyes opening more fully to reveal how dark they are.

"Is that what you want, babe?"

She hauls herself up to kiss him properly, letting her knees bracket his hips and his firm, muscular abdomen press against her increasingly wet center in the perfect way. His hand, still in her hair, tightens his grip again, only this time with intent. He ravishes her, his lips so soft yet so demanding, his tongue both playful and authoritative. He sets the pace of the kiss, deepens it until it threatens to drown Clarke, until she can only cling to him and hope not to be swept away.

"Yeah, Princess. It is." He rolls them over so she's on her back, the firm mattress grounding her. But he doesn't shift his weight atop her like she wants. He stays to the side, one large hand heavy and promising where it rests on her stomach. "We both get what we've earned."

Clarke whimpers when he slips his hand under the hem of her shirt - an old one of his she refuses to give back. His touch trails fire across her skin. She melts beneath him.

Bellamy bends his head to kiss hungrily down her jaw, then her neck.

"You trust me?" His voice is husky in her ear, with sleep and something else. Something more urgent.

"Of course," she sighs, arching into his touch when his fingers skim the underside of her breast.

"Good." He kisses her mouth again, gentler this time. "I promise the punishment will fit the crime. Now how about we get this shirt off you?"

He helps her sit up and in one smooth motion, he strips her shirt off and drops it on the floor. Clarke shimmies out of her underwear and tosses it in his face, laughing when he scrunches up his nose.

Bellamy starts to lean into her again but she shakes her head and puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

"Your turn," she says, eyes flicking down over his boxers. Bellamy heaves a dramatic sigh but divests himself of them quickly, his cock heavy and hard against his stomach . Clarke's gaze narrows on it, wondering whether she'll get to touch him, get him inside her like she wants, or if no touching will be part of her punishment.

Bellamy can see her dilemma, can see she wants to touch him but doesn't know if she's allowed, and he smirks, fisting his hand around himself and giving his cock a slow jerk.

"You want it, babe?"

Clarke nods, speechless. Bellamy's hand comes up to cup her jaw, thumb sweeping across her lower lip.

"You'll get it, sweet thing. If you do exactly as I say." He bends and kisses her, taking her lower lip between his teeth before sucking on it soothingly. "Scoot back on the bed."

A shiver runs down her spine and she does as she's told, letting him herd her until her back is pressed against the padded headboard. Bellamy lounges next to her, nudging her knees so she'll splay her legs wider, still stroking himself firmly. He's getting harder by the second, his eyes alighting on the swaying of her tits, the wetness of her pussy, the submission on her face.

"You're wet, huh babe?" He reaches over and swipes two fingers up her slit. "You get this wet just thinking about what I've got planned for you?"

Clarke nods slowly. "That... and the windows."

He looks around in surprise. "Oh, I guess the curtains are something you did manage to pack before you bailed."

She kicks at him and he grins, catching her foot and tugging her legs wider apart.

"I didn't have the curtains for the first month or so I lived here. I used to - to - "

"Tell me," Bellamy urges, his fingers still sticky with her arousal as he rests his hand on her knee.

That alone gets Clarke wetter, gives her the push she needs to say, "I used to think about getting myself off so people could see."

"Putting on a show," Bellamy says knowingly, his hand drifting up and down her leg as he tilts forward and nuzzles at the side of her tits. "You think anyone can see us right now? Are we making your dream come true?"

Clarke laughs and runs her fingers through his hair. "I kind of hope so. I mean, I'm moving today. It's not like I'd ever have to face them again."

He hums and scrapes his teeth against her breast.

"Then let's give them something to remember us by."

She nods furiously, walls clenching when his fingers slide through her slickness again.

"So wet," he mumbles approvingly, bringing his fingers first to his lips, and then to hers. "Open," he says softly, tapping the pads against her lower lip. She does on instinct, clit throbbing as she tastes herself, as he pushes down on her tongue and moans when she flutters her tongue against them.

"Good girl." He draws his fingers out and plants a kiss on her lips so quick she can't even reciprocate. "You still want my cock, babe?"

"Mmm, I don't know. Maybe I changed my mind," she laughs, heart fluttering at his responding eye roll.

"So fucking mouthy."

Clarke grins and reaches out, stroking his length lightly. His hand stills at the base of his cock, holding himself steady for her as she wraps her hand around him and drags her fingers up the tender underside of his cock. He's hot to the touch, his shape, familiar. She loves his cock, honestly. She's hoping she'll get more than just her hands on it, and from the way Bellamy is nuzzling at her neck, burying his face and trying to collect himself, she thinks he might give her what she wants.

"Maybe you should give my mouth something else to focus on," she suggests, twisting her hand as she jacks him and smirking when he curses, low and breathy.

"Jesus," he grunts, swatting her hand away. "So impatient. It's all part of the plan, if you'll just hold on for one second."

"Okay, okay." She leans back against the headboard, still sprawled indecently, and grins at him. "I'm waiting."

Bellamy stands up on the bed in one swift movement, surprising Clarke and thrilling her at the same time. He looks so good like this, nothing but bronze skin and freckles all the way down, hair rumpled from sleep, his big, beautiful hand wrapped around his big, beautiful cock. Clarke feels like a queen being treated to a private feast, surveying him hungrily as he stands before her and continues to stroke himself slowly and steadily.

Maybe her punishment will be to watch him come without getting her hands on him. As much as she wants it - wants to be good for Bellamy, to play whatever game he's come up with - she doesn't know if she could make it through _that_.

As her gaze travels up his body to his face, she catches his eyes darting toward the window. She moans and grips the sheets tight between her fingers. She'd forgotten he wanted to put on a show.

Well, he's certainly doing it. Anyone with a half decent view of her bedroom windows are getting an eyeful of him right now. Clarke doubts they've ever been so blessed.

"Showing off?" She teases, reaching out to run her toe up the inside of the leg closest to her. Bellamy's dick jumps in his hand. He gives a shallow laugh.

"Maybe a little. That get you hot?"

"You know it does."

She can't help the plea in her tone but Bellamy doesn't make fun of her for once. He just smirks and takes a step closer, his cock bobbing in her face. Clarke makes herself look up at him through the fan of her lashes, biting her lip in a move she knows gets him worked up.

"You still change your mind?" He teases, swiping at his precum before he thumbs her lip away from her teeth. When Clarke gets a hint of his taste on her tongue she inhales sharply, then shakes her head in slow motions side to side.

"Gotta tell me what you want, beautiful," he says, soft.

Clarke rests her hands on his thighs, scritching lightly at the sensitive skin there.

"I want to make you feel good," she tells him, leaning forward and giving him a chaste kiss on the sharp V of his hipbone. She nuzzles the spot gently and casts her eyes up to meet his again. "I want to show you how much I appreciate you."

"Well, go on babe. I won't stop you."

Clarke laughs and turns her face into him again, kissing his navel, his hips, light and sweet. Bellamy lets go of himself when her hand comes up to cradle him gently. She nuzzles her face against his dick, just a moment of soft friction before she turns her head and drags her tongue up the side of it.

Bellamy moans above her and leans forward to brace his forearms on the wall, eyes hooded and mouth hanging half open when she peeks up to see his pretty face. She wraps her fingers around him tightly at his base, flickering her tongue along his length and never dropping eye contact. Without warning, she takes his head in her mouth, swirling her tongue around him and giving him a good, slow suck as she pulls back. Having closed her eyes to give his dick the focus and attention it deserves, she can only imagine the look on his face when she hears him swear. It makes her laugh just the same, the vibration of it making him groan again.

Bellamy reaches down and smooths her hair back behind her ear, his fingers pressing into the spot where he likes to give her hickeys. Clarke tilts her head to give him better access, enjoying the way his fingertips dig in harder when the tip of his cock drags against the inside of her cheek. When she pulls back again, she catches him right beneath his head and gives him one, two, three firm sucks, each eliciting a noise she wants to replay forever.

"Feels so good," he murmurs, almost incoherent. "Fuck. I can't get enough of that mouth, babe."

Clarke moans around him and twists her fingers around his base as she works him deeper and deeper with each bob of her head. Her free hand trails back to cup his balls, to roll them in her hand, and when she gives them a gentle squeeze Bellamy's hips stutter forward, thrusting him deeper into her throat.

"Shit," he gasps. At the same time, Clarke makes a pleased noise, resting her head against the headboard as she repeats the motion. Bellamy manages not to come quite so close to choking her this time, though he can't still himself completely.

Clarke pulls off of him with a wet pop and keeps working him with her hand.

"Don't hold back on me." She runs her fingers up the underside of his cock, pressing it to his belly so she can give his balls a kiss.

"Fuck," Bellamy pants. "That what you want, babe? You want me to fuck your sweet mouth?"

Clarke sucks tiny, quick kisses up his shaft until she can wrap her lips around him again, nodding and looking beseechingly up at him. Bellamy seems hesitant to follow through so she gives him some encouragement, taking him a little deeper and running her hand down the inside of his thigh. Sure enough, his hips jerk forward almost of their own accord, into the tight clutch of her throat. She was more prepared for him this time, ready for such a reaction, and as he presses into her she's able to yawn her throat open wider, to allow him deeper than before.

Bellamy holds himself there for long enough Clarke's eyes start to water before she gently pushes him back and he goes. "So good for me," he's babbling, along with plenty of other nonsense. "So good to me. You're so good at this, babe. I can't wait to wake up with you every morning, Clarke. God."

This time, all she has to do is increase the gentle pressure of her fingers on the backs of his thighs and he picks up a rhythm, pressing in, pulling out. Clarke takes as much of him as she can, fluttering her tongue as hot and firm and good. She always loves the freeing feeling of Bellamy taking control, of knowing she's making him feel good when he's usually so intent on her pleasure. There's also something primal and hot about knowing that she's keyed him up so hard that his restraint falters. She loves teasing him to the edge of that restraint, loves knowing she has that power over him, but sometimes it's just as hot to push him so far past crossing that line that he can't even see it in the distance.

Her hunger for him is so great that Clarke doubts it will ever be sated. As wet as she was before this all started, she's dripping now. She's certain there will be an incriminating spot of arousal on the sheets when they're done, knows she'll need to wash these sheets before they go to sleep in their new apartment together.

She lets one of her hands trail down his leg, stroking him as long as she can before she lets her fingers drift to her own pleasure. Two slide inside her pussy with no resistance and she begins fucking herself to the same rhythm that Bellamy is fucking her mouth. It's not enough to get her off, not when she can feel how thick and long he is on her tongue. Her fingers just can't compare. But it's enough to take the edge off.

Her other hand slips back to fondle his balls once more, now tight and high as he reaches the precipice. This time when he thrusts into her, Clarke gives him her teeth, light as the brush of a feather, but enough to trigger his release. He stills inside of her, spurting come down her throat, and then, when she can't hold him there any longer, in her mouth. She laps it up, making a startled noise when he staggers to his knees nearly atop her, pinning her hand inside her.

His lips catch hers in a bruising kiss and Clarke laughs into it. "Feeling good, babe?" She rasps, her throat a little sore. She doesn't know if the tea and honey is packed up yet but she thinks she can probably sweet talk Bellamy into finding it for her.

"So fucking good." His hand joins hers, tracing around her opening and making him grin when he finds out how wet she still is. "Almost enough to make me forget your betrayal."

He adds one finger to the two of hers working her cunt and Clarke moans, head dropping back against the headboard. Even his finger is so much better than hers, so much thicker and longer and rougher. She needs him so fucking bad.

Bellamy hums. "Yeah, babe. I can tell you got yourself nice and worked up, didn't you?"

Clarke nods, frantic when he crooks his finger just right inside her. "I like making you feel good."

"You like it a lot."

"Yeah." His lips find her neck, a spot of stubble abrading her skin lightly. Clarke's breathing speeds up as Bellamy gives her another of his fingers. Hers are barely there anymore, just sitting idle at her entrance, sort of propping herself open for him. She's panting and writhing in no time, wound so tight to begin with that it takes him very little effort to tug her into the swift current of an orgasm. But just as she nears the rapids, his fingers disappear.

Bellamy kisses her on the cheek and bites gently at her jaw.

"The truck will be here in an hour. I'll go find some tea or something for your throat while you finish packing up your essentials. Sound good?"

Clarke thinks about protesting but when she opens her eyes, he's giving her such a smug look she can't even give him the satisfaction. She just takes a beat to collect herself, shrugs, all faux nonchalance, and gets up from the bed.

"You better fucking finish what you started later," she can't help grousing as she collects her sleep clothes and dumps them in the hamper, searching through her athletic wear to find something she can sweat in, carrying and lifting heavy things all day.

"You really want to be giving me a lecture about finishing the job?" He points out, tugging on his boxers and a spare t-shirt. "That's what got you into this in the first place."

"Fuck." Clarke rifles through another drawer, frustrated. And not just sexually. "Where the hell is all my underwear?"

Bellamy laughs.

"You'd know the answer to that if you were the one who packed them," he calls, heading for the kitchen.

Clarke lets her head thump against the dresser, taking a deep breath that doesn't help at all and muttering to herself, "It's going to be a long day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued.... but in the meantime kudos and comments give me life!


	7. Moving Day (Part II)

Moving is hell.

This, Clarke anticipated. The monotony of lugging boxes and objects too awkward to fit in them down the stairs, out to the truck, driving them over to the new place and then lugging them back up; the sure knowledge that she'd never use half the shit she was making herself carry, making herself find a place for in their new apartment. The ache in her feet, the strain in her arms, the sweat that drips from her hairline, between her breasts, down her legs, reminding her exactly how out-of-shape she really is.

She counts herself lucky that it's only sweat dripping and not something else seeping from inside her shorts.

Bellamy hadn't been joking about hiding her underwear, nor does he take it easy on her throughout the day. Every time he passes by her he lets his fingers trail across her sweat-damp skin. When she's struggling to wipe down the top shelf of the kitchen cabinets, he cages her in from behind as he reaches the places she can't, crowding her against the counter and letting her feel his length pressed against her ass. Even soft as it is, it makes her shiver.

While the movers are busy maneuvering her couch down the stairs, he gets her against the wall with a thigh wedged between her legs, his tongue lapping up beads of sweat that dot her collar bone.

"You're the fucking worst," she gasps, grinding down on his leg despite herself. He nips at her in reproach, sneaking his fingers to rest just under the waistband of her shorts.

"That's not a nice way to treat your boyfriend," he reprimands her, nibbling at her neck. "Whom you love." He tugs her earlobe between his teeth. "Enough to move in with." He flexes his thigh and Clarke whines. "Who loves you enough to finish packing up your apartment after you've gone to bed."

Her hips jerk forward, the smooth material and her slick heat making it an easy glide up his leg. They both groan and then he's pulling back, dropping a chaste kiss on her lips before he moves to heft another box into his arms.

"I fucking hate you."

"Love you too, babe."

The next time, she's re-stacking boxes in the truck so the heavier ones don't crush the fragile things when she feels him slip his arms around her from behind, one of his hands sliding straight between her legs. She bites her lip hard enough it might start bleeding and wilts against him. The moving guys could be nearby, could be in the truck with them for all she knows, yet she can't stop her knees from buckling with need as he explores her folds.

"Dripping wet," he murmurs approvingly into her temple. Clarke digs her nails into the arm holding her to him, every ounce of her willpower devoted to keeping her moan from escaping her lips.

"Of fucking course I'm still wet," she snaps in a whisper. His fingers graze her clit and she makes a soft, desperate noise. "Bellamy, please."

She feels him grin and tries not to hate him for it.

"I love how dirty that mouth of yours gets when you're turned on," he laughs, cupping her in his hand and giving her clit one slow, firm stroke of his thumb right where she wants him before withdrawing. "You haven't been touching yourself, now have you?"

"You mean between all the box carrying and spot-cleaning and having you grope me at every opportunity?"

He laughs and releases her, for which she both is and isn't grateful.

"Good. Hands off for the rest of the day."

She shoots him a look over her shoulder. "Or what?"

He steps in closer again, his voice sultry when he promises, "Or you won't get what you really want."

With those parting words and a playful smack on her ass, he heads out of the truck to grab another load, leaving Clarke flushed and her skin tingling.

The drive across town isn't far, but it feels it. Every bump in the road jostles her needy, unprotected heat. Every time she shifts in her seat, she's certain she's leaving a wet spot behind.

Bellamy doesn't touch her the whole ride, though her body is tensed in preparation for more teasing. They're following the moving truck, a load of their own in Clarke's trunk, and maybe it's just Clarke's frustration but she feels as if she could cut the sexual tension with a knife. Her boyfriend, however, keeps his hands to himself, sprawling in the passenger seat and drumming one hand on the windowsill distractingly.

Clarke clenches her thighs together and attempts to think about anything except where she wants his fingers tapping instead.

As they move things into the new apartment - already near-full with Bellamy's things (where are they going to put all her stuff?) - he continues to keep his distance. It's infuriating, not only because she'd begun to look forward to those brief moments of relief, but also because every time he draws close she finds herself tensing for it, then disappointed when the touch doesn't come.

Even the sight of him is too much when she can't get her hands on him - or herself. His t-shirt stretched across his broad, masculine frame. His curls damp with sweat, his skin glowing with it like something straight out of one of her fantasies. His arms constantly flexing; the strong, sure grip of his hands; the flash of his abs she gets when he lifts the hem of his shirt to dab at his face.

 _Fuck_.

Clarke loves him, is lucky to have him, but her desire is driving her out of her mind.

She begins actively avoiding him, timing her trips up and down so that they don't overlap too long in the same place, floating from room to room without ever finding herself in the same one he's in.

It seems to be working, too, until she bumps into him in the stairwell.

"You're voluntarily taking the stairs?" He lifts one eyebrow, resting his hands on both railings so that she can't pass without some effort.

"The elevator was occupied and this isn't that heavy," she grumbles. Bellamy smirks, stepping down one step, then two, slowly driving her backward.

"You're avoiding me."

"Nope."

"Mm, I think you are."

He tugs the garbage bag out of her grip, letting it flop to the ground. It's full of pillows, nothing breakable, but Clarke glares at him anyway. He only looks more smug, continuing to box her in against the wall.

"So what if I am?" She challenges, lifting her chin in defiance. "You've been messing with me all day. Maybe I just want a break."

Bellamy hums again, his hands settling at her waist.

"You sure that's what you want?" He asks, nosing at her jaw. It's the barest touch, hardly anything at all, but he knows her weaknesses. Clarke's head falls against the concrete wall with a solid thud, her eyes fluttering closed as Bellamy places an openmouthed kiss beneath her chin.

"It's not what I want," she concedes. "It's what I think I can get."

Her hand winds into his hair. He places the other on her own tits, a callback to the first time he ever heard her getting off.

"Feeling frustrated, are we?"

His fingers guide hers in a kneading motion. Clarke inhales sharply as he reaches for her knee with his other hand, hitching it up and over his hip. His cock twitches with interest and she bites down hard on his lip, desperate.

"Bell, _please_. I can't - I need - I - "

His gentle shushing against her lips smothers a few of the flames in her belly. He leaves her hand working herself up and reaches for her other leg, lifting until she's pinned against the wall with his ever-growing hardness flush against her center. "I've got you, Clarke."

He nudges the seat of her shorts aside with his fingers, plunging two of them into her without any warning. She cries out, clenches down on them and squeezes her eyes shut. It's so close to what she needs, yet so not enough.

"Gotta be quiet, Princess," he murmurs, kissing her neck as he pulls his fingers out of her and pushes back in again. "We want to make a good impression on our new neighbors, don't we?"

Fuck. Clarke had completely forgotten that any one of the other tenants could stumble across them. It's not like they're in a secret stairwell. She has no idea how frequently it's used, and they're only on the fourth floor, several floors above them still, so the chances that someone could come upon them from either direction are not insignificant.

She digs her fingers into the muscles in his back and releases a shuddering gasp at the thought, compounded by the crook of his fingers just right inside her and the steady rhythm he's settled into. Clearly he's done with the teasing. Now his every move is calculated to drive her up with maximum speed and intensity. He's going for it. Clarke could sob with how fucking glad she is but she settles for clutching her thighs tighter around him.

"More," she begs, her panting a contrast to the soft kiss he drops on her lips when he pulls his fingers out and fucks into her with three. Clarke's vision blurs. Her walls hug his fingers tightly as they resume their drag inside of her.

Bellamy tugs the neck of her tank top down past one of her tits, her nipple puckering in the air that's markedly cooler than her stuffy sports bra. She expects him to get his mouth on it - she knows from experience that's one of his favorite pastimes - but instead he blows gently on it, causing it to stiffen further, goosebumps rising on her breast.

Somewhere below them, a stairwell door clangs shut. Bellamy's hand doesn't falter in its rhythm, fucking her relentlessly as he muffles her sounds with his own mouth. They've certainly come close to getting caught before, but nothing like this. Nothing like knowing that at any moment, someone could pass mere feet from where Clarke is getting fucked out of her mind, fucked hard and good because she _needs_ it like she needs oxygen. That they could see how slick she is, get an eyeful of her one tit hanging out, of Bellamy giving it to her good even as he surely must have his own arousal to deal with at some point.

She hears footsteps pounding up the stairs but loses count of which flight she thinks they're on when Bellamy slows his thrusts to a dirty grind that never fails to get her wound to the point of snapping. His breath catches when the footsteps slow. Clarke's pleasure is coiled so tight in her gut that a gentle breeze might set her off.

A door opens and shuts only one floor below them. Bellamy lets out his breath and Clarke reaches for his face, sealing her lips on his as his pace slows even further.

It's no longer a stairwell quickie, this pace of Bellamy's. This is his I-know-exactly-what-I'm-doing fucking. His intimate knowledge of Clarke's body at work. The fucking that tells her he's in no hurry because he knows he can make her come whenever he damn well pleases.

Her toes curl, every part of her feeling like she's on fire.

"Please," is all she can say. "Fuck. Please. _Bellamy_."

"Oh, babe." He softens his lips on hers, slowing his fingers to a stop before removing them entirely. "Did you think I was letting you off the hook so soon?"

Tears well in Clarke's eyes. She can hardly think with how turned on she is, her empty walls pulsing so deep and hard and steady with the need to come that it feels as if the earth is moving beneath her. Bellamy takes pity on her and leans in for another kiss. This one is slow and as long as she needs, calming her down and taking the edge off of her need just enough that Clarke can maybe stand on her own two feet.

She wobbles when she tries, but bats away his hands at her waist when he goes to steady her.

He removes his hand but stays close.

"Did I push too far?" He murmurs. Clarke breathes deep, trying to fight back her desperation before she leans up to kiss him again. His lips are sweet on hers and she knows if she really pushed him to, he'd let her come right here and now.

"No," she tells him. "I'm fucking pissed as hell at you, but - no. Not too far."

"Good." He cups her neck in one hand, his lips curving upward as he tugs her in for one last kiss. "I promise the wait will be worth it."

"After what you've put me through, it damn well better be."

The promise he gave her lingers in her mind as she places pots and pans in the cabinets, rearranges furniture, puts clothes on hangers. Her need for him is greater than ever, making her late to respond even when asked direct questions, slowing her unpacking progress.

She keeps it together as long as the movers are still there, not wanting to have to heft her couch around herself later on just because she couldn't keep it in her pants. But it takes a whole lot of work. She deserves a fucking medal.

When they're finally, _finally_ gone, Bellamy finds her in their room, leaning against the doorframe with a smile as he watches her toss clothes haphazardly into drawers.

"We need to wash the sheets from this morning before we put them on the bed," he reminds her as she sticks the empty laundry basket in the corner of the closet. Clarke tosses him a glare.

"I'm exhausted and horny and cranky and not in the mood," she warns him.

Bellamy clucks his tongue and comes over to where she's standing, placing his hands on her hips and resting his lips against her forehead. Clarke can't stop herself from leaning into him, even as annoyed as she is. Every cell in her body wants him right now, in every way. She might be genetically _programmed_ to want Bellamy, it runs so deep within her.

"I think it's high time I delivered on my promises," he murmurs. Clarke's eyes flutter closed even as her body lights up at his words. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

"Is it your dick?"

He snorts and breaks away to gather the dirty sheets in one arm, holding his other hand out to her.

"You'll see."

He leads her down to the laundry room, tossing their sheets in a washer and starting the load as Clarke looks on.

"Okay," she says when he's done. "Where to?"

Bellamy smirks lazily at her and reaches for her, stationing himself between her and the washer that's filling with water. His hands settle on her hips again, this time his fingers slipping under the hem of her tank top to rest on her overheated skin beneath. Clarke shivers and wraps her arms around his neck, meeting his playful gaze with a stern one of her own. She's not in a teasing mood.

"Who says we're going anywhere?"

"You told me you wanted to show me something," she reminds him, letting her nails graze the back of his neck. His hands drift higher, carrying her shirt with them.

"I want to show you exactly how good you've been for me today," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss behind her ear. Her breath stutters. "By being just as good to you."

"You're gonna let me give you blue balls for fucking hours on end?" She mumbles. Bellamy laughs and nips at her earlobe.

"Not today, babe. You said you owed me another, remember? Well I want to use it to get you off good."

"To get us both off good," she breathes, finding his mouth with hers and melting into his kiss. She's so consumed she hardly notices when he turns them around, lifting her up and onto the washer as the spin cycle starts. Her jaw drops as the vibrations of the machine reverberate through her, not quite the friction she wants but delicious all the same. Bellamy takes advantage of the opportunity, licking into her mouth, devouring her as she tries to collect herself.

Clarke digs her heel into his ass, pushing him closer to her and groaning when she feels him hard against her. She thinks Bellamy groans at the same time but her pulse roaring in her ears drowns out every other sound.

His hands continue to work their way up her top, exploring the underside of her breasts. Clarke's hands scrabble for his shirt, lifting it up and over his head before he can protest. He smirks as her hands trail down his chest, past his abs to the drawstring of his shorts.

"Not all the way off," he reminds her, working one bra strap down her arm and then the other, tugging the garment until it rests around her waist. He cups her breasts in his hands, thumbs grazing over her nipples, but doesn't move her tank top aside when he leans down to take one into his mouth.

Clarke loses focus for a second, the rough material abrading her tender skin, his warm, wet mouth providing suction she's been wanting all day, his finger gently circling the other. She moans his name and holds him to her with one hand on the back of his head. He hums against her, the rumble of it a startling counterpoint to the shaking of the machine.

As good as it is, she needs him further south. She thinks about begging again but quashes the idea. She's done enough of that today.

Instead, she reaches into his shorts and wraps her hand around his cock, laughing drunkenly when he swears. He's getting harder by the second, especially when she starts giving him the friction of her hand, soft along his length and twisting her wrist around him when she reaches the head.

Bellamy drops one hand from her tits, trailing down to pull the crotch of Clarke's shorts aside again. She can't tell whether his muffled groan is a reaction to her hand working him or how sopping wet she is. Probably a combination of both, she thinks smugly, collecting his precum and spreading it along his shaft.

She can just picture someone walking in to do their laundry, seeing his broad, beautifully golden back, muscles tensed with pleasure and effort, shorts riding dangerously low above his ass. Clarke's bare legs wrapped around him, stifling her cries with her teeth sunk into his shoulder. An accidental voyeur wouldn't be able to see exactly what was happening, but she thinks they'd get the picture all the same.

The thought makes her shudder, as do Bellamy's fingers on the ring of muscle just inside her entrance. As if she isn't ready for him, hasn't been since she had his dick in her mouth just that morning.

She guides him to her, letting the machine's thumps against the floor push her forward just enough to where she can slick him up with her own arousal.

"That's it, baby." He strokes her hair soothingly.

Clarke realizes the high-pitched keening sound is coming from her, her panting breaths short and quick and desperate when his tip nudges her clit. Bellamy gently unclenches her fingers from his cock, kissing them before resettling them over his shoulder. Sensing that Clarke is unraveling, he takes over the entrance, letting her mouth at his neck as he pushes into her.

"Gonna give it to you so good," he says, waiting until she whimpers before drawing back and snapping his hips into hers. _Hard_.

He does it again and again, filling her to the point of breathlessness, to the point of oblivion. Clarke clings to him, riding the rhythm of the machine against her tailbone and the rhythm of his pounding and gasping when the two align like all parts of a chorus suddenly singing in unison.

She leans back on the washer, hands clutching for purchase on the smooth sides of the machine, letting her hips find the pace too. He can't get as deep inside of her as she wants with this angle but he's hitting a spot inside of that feels so good that every inch of her begins to tighten. Her lungs, her skin, her inner walls, her legs caging him in.

He gives a short, sharp thrust that makes Clarke cry out, then repeats the motion. He hits that spot again and again, hard and fast and so, so good until she's shaking, the symphony of sensations rattling her apart.

Clarke's hips keep moving through it, slowing as the orgasm dissipates until finally she slumps back against the wall. Bellamy, however, doesn't miss a beat. He pulls her hips forward until her ass hangs on the brink of falling off the machine, his hands steady on her waist as he continues his steady, methodical fucking.

"You've got another in you, don't you?" He says, his finger thumb finding her clit, giving her slow up and down, back and forth passes. Clarke moans, one hand on the wall to keep her from sliding back so far she hits it and the other gripping her own hair, grounding herself with the slight sting of pain when bliss threatens to overtake her completely.

"Yeah," Bellamy grunts, leaning forward over her and thrusting deeper than before. "Let me give you another. You earned it today."

Clarke mumbles her agreement, incoherent, and lets the warm wave of his laughter wash over her. She can already feel another one building, pushing and pulling her from all directions.

"Oh, babe. I feel it."

Clarke can feel it too, a euphoria that starts in her toes and slowly makes its way to the points where he's touching her. Deep inside, her throbbing clit, her aching nipples. She lets go of her hair to knock her knuckles over them lightly, the barest attention all she can stand. Her back bows off the machine top as Bellamy's thrusts become uncontrolled. As he gets close to his own release.

The warm, irrepressible pressure inside of her explodes all at once. She doesn't come as hard as she had the first time, but this one is longer, wave after wave of pleasure crashing down on her, crashing her into Bellamy. He stills inside of her as he comes down, Clarke's fingers twitching along his forearms as much comfort as she can offer.

She isn't aware of it when he pulls out of her, when he cleans her up with his t-shirt or slides her arms back into her bra. She comes to sometime around when he lifts her off the washer, pausing the cycle so he can toss his shirt inside, then gathers her in his arms again. Clarke slips her arms around his waist, timing her breaths to match his. For a few moments, they're in their own little world, even in as public a place as the building laundry on a weekend.

"Okay, I guess I can forgive you," she says at last. Bellamy chuckles, kissing her hair.

"I told you I'd make it up to you."

"And you fucking delivered." She pauses. "No pun intended."

His laughter makes her feel even warmer inside and she nuzzles his chest.

"Hey guess what."

"What?" Clarke asks, drawing back to look at him. The fondness in his eyes is so potent it makes her heart skip a beat.

"We live together," he says, grinning ear to ear.

Clarke laughs and kisses him, this ridiculous, torturously tempting man of hers. "Yeah, babe. We do. What do you say we wait for this cycle to finish in our apartment?"

He hums. "Our apartment. I like the sound of that."

Her grin is huge and would be humiliating if he weren't matching it watt for watt.

"Yeah. Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone waiting for an update to [my other WIP,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11824917/chapters/26684409) I hope this smutty chapter appeases you. It's getting longer than I expected, hence the delay.
> 
> To those who have been waiting for this second part to moving day, I hope the wait was indeed worth it ;)


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